


Iron Bars A Cage

by ETraytin



Category: The West Wing
Genre: And Otto, Gen, Relationships are in the background, Santos Administration, The East Wing, This one's for the girls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-04
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-09-14 16:21:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9192494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ETraytin/pseuds/ETraytin
Summary: Six months into the Santos Administration, Helen Santos is finally beginning to understand what it really means to give up her life, her friends and her work to become the First Lady. Luncheons and agendas just aren't enough to fill all the empty spaces. Luckily, Helen has a team of loyal and dedicated staffers determined to solve the problem.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is it guys, one day left on the Fic-a-Day and I'm finally deploying the Emergency Backup Fic! I wrote this one back in October against the inevitable day when I just wasn't going to have a fic in me, and today is that day. Still sick, and I spent all day packing up the car and driving across four states to get home from our protracted holiday visits. I cannot even describe how tired I am right now. So here's the Emergency Backup Fic, which is also the start to yet another multi-parter, but this one should be pretty light and fun compared to some of the heavy stuff in my other WIPs. We'll see how it goes, hope you enjoy this little taste!

“Okay, so Annabeth will be coordinating with Lou in the Communications Office to come up with a joint strategy for publicizing the youth music initiative, but right now we've got feelers out to symphony orchestras in DC, New York City, Chicago and Los Angeles to expand their field trip programs with underserved youths and to promote instrumental music in schools.” Donna checked off that item on her list and glanced around at the other staffers in the East Wing sitting room. “I think that's all on the agenda right now. Has anybody got anything else?” 

Sandy, the First Lady's personal secretary, opened her mouth to add something. She was preempted by Helen Santos herself, who'd been watching the entire meeting in near silence from her perch in one of the uncomfortable wingback chairs. “So what y'all are telling me,” Helen drawled, “is that my agenda this week consists of dinner with the prime minister of Belgium and his wife, six appearances for photo-ops at various school summer programs, a really horrible party in Chicago to help Matt talk up the budget bill, three dressy luncheons to do the same thing, and a visit to church on Sunday where we're the last ones in and the first ones out?”

“Miranda also has a dentist appointment on Tuesday,” Sandy said in a small voice, “and you're meeting with the historic preservation office on Friday morning to get an update on mold remediation efforts under the press room and the third floor bedroom rehab project.” 

“Of course,” Helen said crisply, “I wouldn't want to forget any of that. Good job everybody, keep on truckin'!” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Santos,” Donna said as all the staffers rose to their feet. Helen gave her a somewhat cool look, then swept out towards the living quarters. Donna frowned for just a second, then turned to her team. Besides Sandy, there was Otto, the gifted young speechwriter she'd shamelessly poached from Josh during transition, Miri, who'd been Donna's favorite assistant deputy chief of staff in the last administration, and Annabeth, who'd been offered Deputy Press Secretary but didn't want that side of the building anymore. Not exactly the most experienced team, but running the East Wing was a lot different than running the West Wing. They'd made it through the first six months in office with no major disasters, knock on wood. 

“All right everybody, we've got plenty of work to do this week. Otto, get me drafts on the school speeches by the end of the day, then start working ahead for the Congressional Women's Dinner in two weeks,” she instructed crisply. “Annabeth, you're with Lou, Miri, you're harassing Sam and/or Congress till they give that extra ten million for music programs.” She thought a second. “Sandy, can you see about freeing up another two or three days for the Santos' trip to Houston next month? Even if the President can't come, maybe we can get the family a few extra days.” They all walked out of the sitting room together, heading back to the East Wing office block. Normally Donna held staff meetings in her office, which was more than big enough, but it got awkward trying to sit at her desk with the First Lady sitting in. 

As everyone broke off to their various jobs, Annabeth followed Donna into her office and sat down neatly on the edge of her chair, looking like a pixie in squared-off glasses and a neatly pressed business suit. “Something's wrong with the First Lady,” she announced without preamble. 

Donna took her own seat and began looking through a pile of folders. Her own assistant, Jacelyn, still had a long way to go in terms of mastering index cards and post-it notes. “It's allergies,” she agreed without looking up. “The White House doctor prescribed Claritin and silk flowers.” 

“That's not what I meant,” Annabeth countered, “though my sinuses are already singing a tiny little hallelujah chorus about the flowers.” She side-eyed the large bouquet on Donna's side table, one of dozens in the East Wing at any given time. “I think she's about to start a prison riot.”

“Do what?” Donna looked up, furrowed her brow. “We're not going to any prisons, and we haven't got anything on our agenda.” Her eyes widened a little. “You don't think she's going to want to go after sufferage for felons again, do you?” 

Annabeth rolled her eyes. “There was a time,” she told Donna, “long, long ago in the days when you got enough sleep, that you were able to understand figurative language.” 

Donna glared at her without any real anger. “That's a lie. I've never gotten enough sleep.” She considered Annabeth's words a little harder, finally putting down the pile of folders. “You think she's feeling trapped in the White House,” she surmised. “And that's what the little thing in staff today was about.” 

“I think she's ready to find herself a tin cup and start banging it against the windows,” Annabeth said dryly. “And I don't really blame her. She had a life back in Houston. She had friends and she was on the PTA, and she probably had a book club or one of those groups where they pretend to sew or knit and just drink wine and gossip all evening. What's she got now? This place is just a big ol' white cage for the First Family, and she hasn't even got days at school or the weight of the free world to distract her. Not everyone's built for the monklike lives of austerity that staff members around here seem to prefer. Present company excepted,” she added, tongue-in-cheek. 

Donna flushed, her alabaster skin going pink all the way down her neck. “I wouldn't exactly call it monastic,” she said with great delicacy.

“You had a hickey last week,” Annabeth reminded her gleefully. 

Donna gave Annabeth a slightly more pointed glare, but inwardly she was feeling rather pleased. Not just because of the hickey thing, which had been fun enough to make the embarrassment nearly worth it, but because Annabeth was joking about relationships again. Optics were Annabeth's stock in trade and she covered her emotions very well most of the time, but Donna had seen how undone she'd been after Leo's death. It hadn't taken too long to suss out why. At this point there was nothing to be said about whether a relationship would've been wise or appropriate, what did it even matter? 

Annabeth was completely unwilling to talk about it, so all Donna had was her own speculation, but if she and Leo had been a thing, it couldn't have been for very long. That really didn't matter either, she supposed. She wondered, when she could bear to think about it, what she herself might have done if something had happened to Josh at the end of the campaign trail, back in late 1998. She'd have been devastated by the loss, of course, but not completely destroyed the way she would've been a few years later at Rosslyn, or any time after that. Today seemed like a good sign that maybe Annabeth was starting to bounce back. “Aren't we talking about the First Lady here?” 

“She hasn't had many hickies lately,” Annabeth commented, raising a quelling hand at Donna's sputter. “What I mean to say, she doesn't seem very satisfied on any level lately, and that's not usual for her. And you know what they say, if Mama ain't happy, ain't nobody happy. If the President's not happy, the entire country suffers. We have an obligation.” 

Donna massaged her temples delicately, suspecting she was about to have a headache. “I'm not sure there's anything we can do about the fact that her friends and her life are all back in Houston and this place is secured like a bunker most of the time. But at least she's got the trip coming up.” 

“Which will probably make things worse,” Annabeth pointed out, swinging her legs idly off the edge of the desk. “She's just starting to get strung out now, craving her old life. Let her go to Houston and give her a quick hit of what she's missing, then send her back to the methadone clinic of blue-hair luncheons and boring fundraisers with professional brown-nosers, all she's going to be thinking about is what she doesn't have.” 

“I think you rode that metaphor way out of the pasture there, but I see what you mean.” Donna replied dryly. “What do you suggest we do about it?” 

“She needs friends here. People, ideally women, close to her own age, who she doesn't have to be so formal with all the time,” Annabeth said decisively. 

Donna cocked her head. “Are you suggesting we set up a playdate for the First Lady?” 

“If by playdate you mean 'you and I take her a bottle of wine and try to remember to call her Helen for a couple of hours,' it's not a bad place to start,” Annabeth offered. “I don't know about you, but I don't have any friends in DC who don't work here. And vetting anybody is going to be a serious hassle. At least if we can get her to open up a little, maybe we can find out some of what she'd like to do.” 

“That could work,” Donna agreed, resting her chin on her fist thoughtfully. “The president is out of town Thursday night and the nanny's on duty. I'll ask her about it tomorrow and see if she's interested.” 

“DAR's Thurday lunch,” Annabeth pointed out. “We might need a couple bottles.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day three of WIP Week, woo-hoo! Today's prompt is "Your Canon-Verse AU," which made it very easy for me to choose. I only have one ongoing story that's not an AU, and even this one is post-canon, but it still counts! I meant to write more on this shortly after I posted the first chapter, but you know what they say about good intentions. In any case, I hope you enjoy this second chapter and I will try and add more to it when I can. Feedback makes me happy!

It was easier than Donna had expected to get the First Lady on board with the idea of girls' night in at the White House. With the President on a speaking jaunt to Michigan and the kids upstairs with their nanny, the three women had the main floor of the Residence to themselves. Helen decided that the East Sitting Room was the perfect venue for drinks, with its comfortable couches and lack of Matt's enormous television. Donna agreed, despite a little remembered uneasiness over the last time she'd had too much to drink in this particular room with a different first lady. She reminded herself to be more careful this time. They were here to perk Helen up, after all, not depress her even further. 

Drinking in moderation wasn't necessarily in the cards that evening. Helen took care of half the first bottle by herself, sipping away daintily at two good-sized glasses while they made slightly awkward small talk about the children and the movie night scheduled for next week in the White House theater. Eventually the alcohol performed its lubricating function and they all began to relax, slipping off their shoes and leaning back against the couches.

“I didn't even develop a taste for wine until Matt ran for mayor,” Helen admitted to nobody, staring into her half-empty glass. “I never liked it before that, too sour and it gave me headaches.” She laughed. “Back in college I only drank beer, or occasionally those fruity things with little umbrellas. My sorority sisters and I decided we were going to assemble a bar for the house one time, but nobody actually organized who should get what. We ended up with something like four bottles of coconut rum, a bottle of Kahlua, a truly massive bottle of Jaeger, and four jars of maraschino cherries.” 

“I could make a drink out of that,” Annabeth decided, unpinning her hair from its tight bun. With her hair down and her glasses off, she looked about sixteen. “I'd call it... Gilligan's Island.” 

“That sounds horrifying,” Donna chuckled. “But if you wanted to really make a theme drink out of it, you'd garnish it with a Barbie head.” She giggled harder at the uncomprehending looks. “You know, 'the Skipper too?'” 

“Drink one and get a three hour tour of the bathroom!” Helen concluded. “I think we just ended up joining forces with our brother fraternity because they already had a bar setup. It was so much more efficient.” She sighed nostalgically. “We had the best parties back then. God, do you remember going to parties that were actually fun?” 

“Vaguely,” Donna replied, thinking back to her own abbreviated college days, back before she'd gotten all wrapped up in Rick. Though they'd had fun on the Bartlet campaign too, especially the first one. She still missed all her friends from the previous administration, now mostly scattered all over the country. 

At the same time Annabeth said “Not really.” She shrugged when the other two looked at her. “I worked in television for years before I came here!” she pointed out. “Parties were a social minefield. The only time you ever got to let your hair down was on nights like this, with a couple of people you trusted not to sell you out or stab you in the back. Everybody needs a few good friends to drink and talk with.” 

“I had that back in Texas,” Helen agreed, “and it was wonderful. We'd get together once a month and leave the kids with our husbands, and we'd go out and get a little silly, swear as much as we wanted, and bitch about all the people we couldn't stand but had to pretend to like. I got my tattoo on one of those nights,” she admitted with a half-laugh. “Of course, once the campaign started, there was no more of that. Being the mayor or the Congresswoman's wife is bad enough, but there's nowhere you can escape to when the whole country has its eyes on you. You never get to let your hair down.” 

“Amen to that,” Annabeth said, then hiccuped. 

Donna pushed the fruit and cheese plate in Annabeth's direction. “You really miss them, don't you,” she asked Helen. 

Helen moved her shoulders in a restless shrug. “Of course I do,” she said, just a little sharply. “I haven't seen any of them since January, and even before then it wasn't the same. Marissa failed her Secret Service vetting, do you believe that? She used to protest on campus when we were in college and got arrested one too many times or something. One of my best friends and she wasn't allowed within a thousand feet of my house! And who the hell would want to bother with all the security and the scrutiny, and oh my god, the protesters outside, if they didn't have to? It's not like I blame them, I wouldn't be my friend anymore either!” She tossed back the rest of her glass and began to impatiently unwrap the foil on another bottle. 

“At least it's not forever,” Annabeth offered. “You can keep in touch by phone and email.” 

“Yes, because I love to gossip with my friends with the NSA listening in, or with the National Archives preserving my correspondence for posterity,” Helen growled. She managed to get the cork out of the bottle and poured another round. 

“At least the wine is good.” Donna pointed out. 

“Okay, you do have a point there.” Helen laughed, slumping bonelessly back against the couch. “How did Abbey Bartlet do this, anyway?” she demanded, waving her glass vaguely towards the opulent surroundings. “How did she stand it?” 

“Pretty much like this,” Annabeth quipped, setting down her glass before sliding awkwardly sideways to lay on the sofa. She was so little that Donna still had plenty of room left on her end. 

“She found things to do,” Donna corrected, taking another dainty sip. She wasn't sure what number glass she was on anymore, but she was feeling nice and warm all over. “Lectures, humanitarian trips, visiting her daughters, pushing her agenda with the West Wing. She also spent a fair amount of time in Manchester. Nobody ever said you can't spend some time at home without the President, even if it's not possible for you to keep living there.” 

“That was easy for her, she didn't have young children,” Helen pointed out. “I can't be dragging Peter and Miranda back and forth during the school year, and I certainly can't leave them here with the nanny. I'm absolutely not going to be that kind of mom,” she said with great firmness. “That's my one nonnegotiable. It doesn't matter how much I hate it here, I'm going to make sure they have a good life here, and as normal a life as I can give them.” 

“Why don't you extend that to yourself, too?” Donna asked. “You deserve a little normalcy too, or as close as we can get. What are some things you miss doing? Maybe we can figure something out.” 

“How about my whole life?” Helen began, a bit of a whine in her voice. Donna just gave her a level look. She sighed. “All right, now I'm sounding like Peter. Um, things I miss... I miss being able to go out and get my hair done at the salon. I miss my exercise classes. I miss jogging outdoors instead of on the treadmill, but I hate being gawked at or having the Secret Service practically lapping me. I miss cooking my own meals and doing the dishes... well, not all the time!” She laughed at the skeptical look she got for that. “I kept all this staff because I couldn't bear to put them out of jobs, but my house isn't my own anymore and it makes me itchy. I need stuff to do!” 

Donna pulled a mini notebook from the purse she'd stashed under and end table and started making notes. “So we've got salon visit, exercise class, jogging, cooking, and vacuuming,” she summarized. “Good start?” 

“I could probably forego the vacuuming,” Helen admitted. “Is she asleep?” 

Donna poked Annabeth experimentally in the foot. Annabeth snorted and curled into a smaller ball on the couch. “Yeah, she's gone.” 

Helen laughed. “Wanna draw on her?” 

Donna thought about that. “Give me another glass of wine first.” 

*** 

Even after six months in office, it sometimes still bothered Josh that he was home by 10pm most nights. Leo had hardly ever gone back to his hotel room before midnight, and he was pretty sure there were a lot of nights when CJ hadn't gone home at all. When he'd tried to bring that up to President Santos, though, the man had just laughed and pointed out that neither of them had anybody waiting for them at home, and that made a big difference. Josh found it tough to argue with that. He also had to admit that it was more comfortable to read yet another briefing book while stretched out in bed, rather than hunched over his desk with a reading light again. 

Tonight it was Donna burning the midnight oil at work, though this particular job consisted of some vague plan to improve Helen Santos' flagging morale. Josh was in full support of that plan, mostly because he remembered how miserable Abbey could make everybody when she really got on a tear over something. She'd said it might run late, but when eleven-thirty rolled around, he started getting a little nervous. He was just about to call her cell phone when he heard the front door open and then loudly slam shut, followed by a cute little “Oops!” Donna was definitely home. 

He set aside the briefing book and waited, growing increasingly amused as he listened to her puttering around the apartment, talking to herself and bumping into furniture. Finally she opened the door, her face lighting up when she realized he wasn't sleeping. “Hey, you're here! And awake! That's so great!” 

“I am,” he agreed. “The President called me from Michigan especially to kick me out of my office and tell me to go home. I thought about ignoring him, but Margaret would tell on me.” 

“She would,” Donna agreed, shedding shoes and jacket and walking towards him in her skirt and a rather flimsy camisole. “And she should! I need somebody watching out for you when I can't!” She climbed onto the bed next to him, squeezing in between him and the edge of the bed rather than going around to her side. Bringing her face down low enough that their noses nearly touched, she grinned at him. “Hi.” 

He grinned back. “Donnatella, you are very drunk.” A moment of worry crossed his mind. “You didn't drive home, did you?” 

Donna sighed theatrically. “Joshua, Josh, Josh, Joshua, Josh, Josh, Josh, Joooooosh...” She nuzzled his nose with hers. “Of course I didn't drive. That would be a terrible idea, and I only have good ideas. This night, for instance, was one of my best ideas. We're going to make things better for Helen and then she'll stop being so crabby with everybody and it'll be great.” 

“If you can manage that, I'm sure the President will be very appreciative,” he told her, leaning up and catching her by the waist when she looked about ready to keel over. It was just a feint, though, as she proved when she swung a leg over his waist to straddle him. 

“And what about you?” she asked, beaming down at him with eyes as round and bright as twin moons. “Will you appreciate me too?” 

“I always appreciate you,” he told her with complete honesty. “And I'd show you just how much, but I think you're about five minutes from passing out, and I think you should drink some water and use the bathroom first.” 

Her eyes got even wider. “You're right! I really have to pee!” She swung herself down from the bed, wobbled just a little, and scampered for the bathroom. “See, this is why they let you run the country, because you have good ideas too.” 

“I sure do,” he agreed, pillowing his arms behind his head and still chuckling. Water or no, she was not going to be nearly so happy with the world in the morning. Maybe he wouldn't even tease her too much about tonight... no, he probably would. That was one of the best perks of being in a relationship, after all. But if Donna's scheme to cheer Helen up really did pan out, he'd be the first one kissing her feet. Domestic strife in the White House was the last thing any of them needed.


End file.
